Day 71 Canakkali, Turkey

Abdullah before Mosque

On the bus from Gelilolu to Ecsebat, I met Abdullah, friendly, bright, and well read; a dovout Muslim; a Turkish soldier on leave to visit his wife. With hand language and very broken English, Abdulllah eagerly talked about his faith and the many grievances he and his fellow Turks had against Jews, Americans, and the West in general. His passions ran deep accusing Jews and Americans of killing millions, "kill babies" was an expression he used. "Osama Bin Laden is a CIA agent," he claimed. Earlier on in this trip, on the train between Graz and Ljubjana, I had met an Israeli soldier who had expressed, with similar passion, his grivances against Palastinians and Muslims. Both so young, not much older than Josh, caring and generous to a fault, but willing to kill in defense of their religious views. We debated the role of religion across political conflicts as we took the ferry across the Canakkali Straights into Asia and to the seaside town of Canakkali. There I had planned to catch the 12:30 bus to Bursa, but engaged, as we were, I changed to the 2:30 bus. We ate lunch, debated; browsed a couple of book stores, debated; and visited an outdoor military museum, and debated some more. "Read the Koran," Abdullah insisted, and gave me a list of other books to read as well. Although his views were disturbing, but emblematic, I surmised, of most people in this part of the world, I tried to understand his position as well as I could. The call to prayer sounded, and Abdullah said, "I need to go to the Mosque. You come with." Soon I found myself in the midst of the faithful. Abdullah and I washed our hands, feet, face, and head; removed our shoes; and filed into the Mosque, while the women, with their hands held out in a form of supplication, sat on a bench outside. Inside, Abdullah found a place where I could sit and observe while he joined the other men listening to the recorded chanted prayers - falling repeatedly to their knees, their faces to the floor. Outside we each received a lemon sweet dipped in sugar powder. I made it to my bus just in time. We promised to exchange emails.

Eyup and Wife

I had just left Abdullah and was boarding the bus when a Turkish couple, the man speaking German and assuming I needed help, checked my ticket to make sure I was on the right bus and my bags safely aboard. The man, whose name was Eyup, had lived in Berlin for sixteen years. The ride to Bursa took five hours - we had plenty of time to get to know each other. His thoughts were the same as Abdullah, "The CIA had fabricated Osama Bin Laden. 9/11 was a CIA operation. Because communism had been defeated, the capitalists needed an enemy to fight, and that enemy was now Islam." He went into a lengthy explanation as to why this was true. I asked him if this was an opinion shared by most Turks. "Yes, of course," he said. Although I found his beliefs disturbing, and I told him so, I was impressed with his congeniality and eagerness to share his opinions and beliefs without rancor. "You must read the Koran," he said. "50,000 Germans have converted to Islam." Turns out he was also a successful businessman, owned a textile firm employing 45 people and owned five houses, which made his harangue against capitalist ring a bit hollow.

Abdullah with Army Hat

It's my third day in Turkey - very different and far more confusing than Eastern Europe. The accommodations have so far been spartan-like; buses and taxis, the primary modes of transportation; people, like Abdulla, Eyup and his wife, eager to give advice; others wanting to give me a piece of candy, a piece of bread, or buy me water or tea; all wanting to help me in anyway they can; and most importantly, wishing to talk and explain what they're about. As a parting gift, Abdulla had given me his worry-beads. I had bought him a WWII Turkish army hat at the outdoor military museum. I shared a taxi with Eyup and his wife, who wanted to stay in the same hotel as I to continue our conversation, but we weren't able to find one with two rooms free. I'm not sure I would be having this experience if I hadn't been traveling alone.

Day 70 Gelibolu, Turkey

Lessons I've learned while traveling in Eastern Europe:

Communications: Avoid making phone calls of any kind. Turn off and don't buy the international AT&T's data roaming package. Turn off your voice mail to avoid incoming telemarketing charges. Stay in touch by using text messaging, email, and Skype. Stay only at hotels that offer free wifi - not a problem in Eastern Europe. Bring a cheap cell phone for texting and a cheap light-weight notebook computer for skyping, emailing, blogging, and conducting online business.

Accommodations: Don't book ahead. Wait until you arrive before determining what best meets your needs. If a hotel is booked, use that hotel to recommend and call ahead for availabliity at other hotels. Stay at smaller independent hotels, where the service is more likely to be personal and the chance to negotiate a lower rate better. Ask to see the room - should include wifi, air-conditioning, and breakfast. Try to stay in the vicinity of the train or bus station, or in the vicinity of the sights you intend to visit.

Transportation: Most comfortable way to travel is by train. The best website for schedules is http://plannerint.b-rail.be. Do not purchase a Europass - you lose flexibility and trains in East Europe are very inexpensive anyway. Busses are cheap, but often uncomfortable, and schedules in English unavailable online. Car rental is available, but usually expensive, and only if you're willing to return the car to the same place. Forget the International Driver License - they need only your U.S. license. Sometimes there's no reasonable way out of a city except by plane. I use Travelocity.com to make those reservations. Use municipal buses and subways and avoid taxis as much as possible.

Currency: To avoid bank withdrawal charges, bring cash - balanced, of course, against the risk of losing or having your money stolen. When exchanging money, shop around and exchange only at places where they report both the buy and sell rates. If the spread between the two is small, their commission is small. Wait until you arrive in the country to exchange money. At the ATM, withdraw only large amounts to avoid multiple withdrawal fees. Conduct all your transactions in the local currency. Don't trust transactions in Euros or Dollars. Do the calculations yourself.

These lessons may not apply to other parts of the world or to anyone traveling under a different set of circumstances, but they are ones that have seemed to have worked for me.

Day 69 Kirkareli, Turkey

Talking Basketball

I was going to blog about lessons I learned on this trip, but that will have to wait. I planned to take the bus to Malko Tarnovo, a town near the Turkish border for $4.50, but no one could tell me how to get from there over the Turkish border and where I go from there. Anxious about what I was getting into, I allowed a taxi cab driver to talk me into taking me directly to the border. "Across the border, there are hotels, buses, and taxis," she promised me in very broken English. It was an hour drive and would cost me $50. As we approached the border, there was only wilderness, and then a solitary guarded gate. "Border," she said. "50 meters," Pointing to the other side where I saw no sign of civilization. I showed my passport to the guard and he waved me on. Schlepping my bags I encountered another post, and again they ask for my passport. I walked through eight passport controls, at one point I had to buy a visa for $20, and about half way through, a lone taxi driver started hustling me. A Turkish family took sympathy on me and told me not to listen to him, "He only wants to take your money. Wait for a tourist bus to come. They will give you a ride to the next town." I continued through the phalanx of passport checks; the taxi driver continuing to pitch me in unintelligible English. At the end of the controls, there was nothing but more wilderness - no sign of civilization. I decided to negotiate with the driver who I finally convinced to take me to the next town for five Euro where he promised me I could catch a bus. It was a remote rustic country village, about ten kilometers from the border, and well off the beaten track. We pulled up to a van, amidst a handful of buildings that served as the town center. I immediately knew my options were limited. The van was the bus he had promised. Two men were in charge of the van, neither of whom spoke English, except to say, "Twenty-five Euro to next town." I was in a fix; the weather, however, was beautiful and so I decided to sit down and get to know these guys. One of the three knew sufficient English to ask me where I was from. "San Francisco," I said and his eyes glistened. "America good," he said. "America and Turkey friends." I nodded in agreement and said, "Turkey Basketball good!" All three, excitedly, nodded their heads in agreement. The one who spoke some English eagerly explained that one of the Turkish players plays for the Chicago Bulls and another for the Miami Heat. After about fifteen minutes of trying to talk basketball, I said, "Ten Euro." The one who spoke the best English said, "Okay, get in," and without further comment other than to shake my hand and to say his name was Hassan drove me to a hotel in Kirkareli, a town where the adventure continued but in the interest of brevity I better sign off for now.

Day 67 Burgas, Bulgaria

Beach in Sozopol

In Sozopol, I swam for an hour, 'luxuriating' in the clear salt water, although not as salty as the Adriatic. Most of the tourists are back in school or on their jobs, leaving the beach to an older crowd. Out of the water, the pace is slow and authentic. Here's where a writer like Hemmingway might choose to write. I'd love to stay longer but it's Nick's last day and he needs to get back to Varna. He'll drop me off in Burgas, another coastal city like Varna, where I'll spend the night before trying to find my way to Turkey. Burgas is about an hour drive from the Turkey border, but due to the century-old hostilities between the two countries, light years away. From Burbas, the shortest way to Turkey is by bus but you have to take it all the way to Istanbul, a seven-hour trip. I'd like to go to one of the towns over the border. The best advice I've gotten so far and more than once is, "Take the bus to Malko Tarnovo, about an hour from here, and ten kilometers from the border. From there you can catch a cab to the border and walk across into Turkey." "What do I do when I get to the other side," I've asked. "Don't know, I haven't been there." has been the response.

Day 66 Sozopol, Bulgaria

View from Room in Sozopol

The weather sunny and warm, Nick and I rented a car and drove south to Nesebar on the Black Sea, shimmering dark blue, clear as the Adriatic, and just as inviting. Even at this late date the town attracts tourists, some Germans and Brits but no Americans. Like so many of these old coastal towns, it's built out over an island on the ancient ruins of the Byzantine and Roman empires. We spent about two hours snapping pictures but understanding little of the history before getting back on the road and continuing on through Burgas before arriving at another island fortress-like old town called Sozopol, with which we quickly fell in love. We found a small hotel on the rocky cliffs with a view of the beach below and the town across from the island. The price, including free wifi and air-conditioning, $26.50. Many stores and restaurants had already closed for the season and as evening approached, a brisk breeze, coming from the east off the sea, made it feel like Fall was in the air. Our waitress told us it snowed the whole month of December last year, something it had never done before. "The snow," she said, "was up to our knees."

Day 65 Varna, Bulgaria

Fishing off the Pier

Varna, I'm here, the resort town on the Black Sea - my destination, my nirvana. It can't be over until the fat lady sings? What can I possibly write? The beach stretches for a kilometer below the hotel in which we're staying. To the right is a pier built over a jetty upon which a gaggle of fisherman cast their rods in vain. To the left is another, much smaller jetty, beyond which is another beach, and then another jetty, and then another beach, and so on. The water, unlike the Adriatic, is slightly murky - but beyond the jetty to the left, it becomes clearer. It's early morning and promises to be a warm sunny day. The beach is slowly filling with sunbathers. Many of the women wear nothing but thongs, the men are appropriately attired. A very fat, copper brown, naked woman is wading a few feet off shore, bending over and picking out sea shells, her large breasts almost touching the water. On closer inspection she's not completely naked, she's also wearing a thong I hadn't detected through the rolls of fat. I'm almost tempted to take a picture. No; that wouldn't be in good taste. This should be the end of my blog. I made it. I made it to Varna. The fat lady didn't sing but she did appear. But I have 25 days to go so I'll push on and continue to blog - it's lent a certain structure and meaning to what otherwise might have been a pointless trip.

Day 64 Stara Zagora, Bulgaria

Stara Zagora Monument

Our train to Varna didn't leave until three and so I had time to walk the tree lined avenues and parks of Stara Zagora, the Roman ruins upon which the city was built, and through a modern museum documenting the history of the city dating back to the neolithic period. The warm sunny weather and back to school celebrations created a casual festive atmosphere. No one though was in a hurry - they seemed to relish the slow pace. I can understand why the woman on the train chose to retire from her job in NY and retire in Bulgaria. Prices are very low and for those over 65 the government pays for your health care needs. Nick had asked the woman if life had been better under the Soviet Union. She answered, "Everyone had a job. The government took care of all of our education and health care needs." "What about the block apartment buildings?" I asked. "We had a housing shortage and people lined up to get into the 'Khrushchoba.' My sister still lives in one." It wasn't all paradise, I surmise, since her husband, as a result of a fluke in the system, fled to the West and she and her son followed four years later.

Stray Dogs

Stray dogs everywhere. I've said that before but it's an issue a roving anthropologist just can't let go of. In an article I read, "There are now about 9500 stray dogs throughout Sofia, according to Peter Petrov, the director of Ekoravnovesie, the municipal company entrusted with managing the capital's stray dogs. Numerous cases have been recorded of people being attacked by packs of strays in Sofia." Nick also did some research and although what he found relates to Romania, could relate to parts of Bulgaria as well: "When 'Centrul Civic' was built, approximately 40,000 families and 3,000 pet dogs were dispossessed of their homes. Most of these dogs became strays, and rapid breeding led to a population of over 250,000 stray dogs by 2001. Mayor Traian Băsescu had initially planned to euthanize as many stray dogs as possible, but international outcry — led by actress Brigitte Bardot — resulted in the substitution of a spay-and-release program instead." On a positive note, the dogs seem very friendly and simply looking for a good scratch.